my rock, my shield

by this blood, my oath

Tartaglia swears a new oath.

--

Tartaglia's knee smarts. The tiled ground below him is hard, and yet, he kneels there, stock still.

Morax sits upon his throne, an imposing figure. One leg crossed over the other. His chin rests against the back of his knuckles. He regards Tartaglia with a cool, intrigued expression, golden eyes flashing. Geo lazes around them, hanging in the air, heady.

"So, you mean to swear allegiance to me?"

To most, the question feels like a trap. Even Tartaglia, for a moment, feels a nervous rush spread through his being, cold, like spring in Snezhnaya, just crisp enough for discomfort. But then he remembers that this isn't just Morax, this is Zhongli, the man who warms his heart in a way that Tartaglia thought impossible.

The throne room is empty save the adeptus Xiao beside Morax, and Ekaterina who stands two paces behind Tartaglia. Xiao's lips are curled in distaste. He sniffs the air, trying to scent a lie, and only looks sour when he smells nothing but the truth.

"I—" Tartaglia licks his lips, hesitating.

"Tartaglia," cuts in Morax. And then, softer, "Ajax. If you do this—"

"I'm well aware of what I'm asking."

Is he though? It is easy to think yes in the barest of terms. Tartaglia loves this man, and it is strange how easily this loyalty comes. How simple it feels, like rolling Hydro across the back of his knuckles to entertain children. Tartaglia thinks nothing of it.

But, but—

"You are her youngest," muses Morax then, a rueful gaze flashing over his face. "She will not take kindly to me stealing you away."

Tartaglia blinks. "Is it stealing me away if she sent me here?"

Months ago, nearly a year. The Tsaritsa had pressed her cold hand to his face and said that he was being loaned to Liyue to pay off an old contract. "A favor," she'd said. "Perhaps I was a fool to think that old dragon had forgotten but he's calling upon the request. You will be his ward for the time being."

"Do you wish for me to spy on him?" asked Tartaglia, thinking she might have an ulterior motive.

Her face caved slightly, thoughtful. She smoothed her thumb across his cheek like a mother would a child and then gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "No. Best not to anger him."

Tartaglia had gone to Liyue expecting a job and fell in love instead; with its people, its food, its Archon—

"Tartaglia?"

At the sound of Morax's voice, he snaps back too. He shifts, the creaking of his knees loud in the quiet room.

"She sent me to my doom," says Tartaglia then, thinking of the old gods in the ground that poison Liyue's air.

"Karma," Morax had told him. "Penance for my naivete in my youth. Things are never as simple as being the most powerful and now my land suffers."

The Tsaritsa knew that Morax would only call in his favor if he grew desperate enough. So she sent her youngest, her wildest, her most disposable.

Morax sighs, his expression softening. He stands from his throne, silk curling about him in tendrils, heavy like the karma that rests across his shoulders, soft like his kindness. He glides over the tile and kneels beside Tartaglia.

Xiao starts. "My Lord—" And falls quiet at the wave of Morax's hand.

"It is not a vow to be taken lightly." Morax's voice is soft, hesitant. He takes Tartaglia's hand into his, cradling it in a way that is undoubtedly improper. "I am the god of contracts. Such promises cannot be so easily undone."

"I know that," replies Tartaglia.

"Ajax." Quiet enough for just the two of them to hear. Morax runs his thumb over the vein in Tartaglia's wrist, considering it. Over and over, tracing its line in nervous distraction.

"I swear my allegiance to you." Tartaglia's voice is louder, solid as the steel that sits in the scabbard at his waist. "It is freely given, something which I have never done before. Not even with..." Tartaglia trips on his words, tongue thick in his mouth. A quick look around the room shows only Ekaterina and Xiao. "Coerced loyalty is not tried and true, as I have recently learned. This, however—

"A solemn vow. To you." Tartaglia laughs at the awkward, unpracticed words that fall from his mouth. "I will be your sword for as long as I live."

Morax's nostrils flare. At this moment he is unearthly, eyes flashing golden as the contract is slowly composed. "Ajax," he says again, a gentle coo full of affection. "Then I too, will make a vow to you—"

"Zhongli—"

"Every sword is part of a set. Alone, it is not worth much, but with a shield, it can withstand even the worst of enemies. This is what I am to you, darling, your rock, and shield, neverending, all-encompassing in every way." The last part is murmured against Tartaglia's skin as Morax tugs it to his mouth. A quick kiss to that vein. The softness of his cheek as he nuzzles the bone there.

"I read once that your contracts used to be blood oaths. Unbreakable." Morax tilts his head as he considers this. His eyes flash to Tartaglia's face, watching him like a hawk. Tartaglia then says, "Do it."

Morax's teeth flash, sharp, pointed things bright against his tongue. He drags his lips across Tartaglia's wrist. He tastes his pulse. Another searing glance that makes Tartaglia's heart skip a beat, followed by a curved smile.

Then, Zhongli's teeth sink into his skin.